


transcontinental, 1:30am (don't let this line go slack)

by jasminetea



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Homecoming, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasminetea/pseuds/jasminetea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long distance phone call.  (Come home.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	transcontinental, 1:30am (don't let this line go slack)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted for [this](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/6784.html?thread=12809856#t12809856) prompt.
> 
> Music: Bonnie Raitt's "Can't Make You Love Me" and Vienna Teng's "Homecoming." Title from Vienna Teng's "Transcontinental, 1:30am."

Erik picks up the phone on its second ring, after tripping on a stack of phonebooks he means to use to prop up the crooked kitchen table.

 

“Hello?”  He holds the phone with right hand, and rubs out the ball of his foot, still smarting, with his other.

 

There’s a pause on the line for the space of a breath, and then, _Erik._

Erik’s world shifts to this phone pressed against his cheek, the cord connecting him to whatever distant place Charles is in now.

 

“Charles,” he says back.  He can’t imagine what his voice sounds like.  He lets Charles read whatever he wants into it.  Civility, longing, love, disappointment--it’s probably all true.  Erik doesn’t like to let himself think too much on Charles now that the house is empty; he just recognizes the other man’s absence, wishes for his presence to fill it once more, and leaves it at that.

 

And yet he still can’t stop himself from asking, “Are you coming home?”

 

_Erik_ , and it’s in that tone Charles uses trying to convey something more than what is said.  A lot of the times it’s enough.  Erik can stop his carving, put down the rasp and half-shaped wood, and know.  Sometimes it’s just making tea.  (Erik’s learned how long to steep it, how hot to boil the water.  He looks to the cabinet where he keeps the Wedgewood set, a gift, dust free.)  Other times it’s convincing Charles to stop his research and come sit on the couch.  He flexes his fingers, half-expecting Charles’s fingers to lace up with his, his chin pressing against his shoulder.  Erik doesn’t know what that voice means now that Charles isn’t next to him.

 

“Just say what you mean Charles.  You know I can’t read your mind.”  Erik imagines Charles smile at that.  Charles had always tried to get Erik to be more communicative, and in the end, it was Charles who couldn’t articulate whatever it was, and left.

 

Charles pauses again on his end.  _The fight for you is all I’ve known_ , he begins.  _And then I had you, and it was all so beautiful I couldn’t believe it.  Do you know how long it took for me just to convince you to go to lunch outside of that café? And then we were dragging our mix-matched furniture together and figuring out how to make a house._

Erik rests the receiver between his chin and shoulder, and loops the cord around his finger as he leans against the wall.  The paint is cool against his temple and the spot above his hip where his shirt pulls up.  “I know.  It wasn’t easy for me either.  But you know that.  I just didn’t know it was hard for you.”

 

_I’m sorry._

Erik closes his eyes.  “I miss you, but I’m doing ok.”  He opens them again, and looks at the hour on the clock.  “Are you?”

 

_No.  Not really._

“Charles… even if…”  Erik lets the words out, “even if we’re not together anymore, I’m still there for you, ok?”

 

An inhale.  _That’s not…  I’m coming home ok?  I… …_ we _can sort myself out at home._ The words come quickly tumbling out, and Erik hopes.  _With tea, and those silly documentaries you like with terrible narration._

“Ok.  I’m glad.”  He wants to let Charles know that if he needs more time, he has it.  The commitment Erik made to this relationship isn’t going to fade like a rainbow after the rain.  Perhaps, one day it might, but Erik has much left in him yet.  But Erik trusts Charles knows what’s best for himself, and he’s glad Charles thinks that it's back here, by his side.

 

“Get some sleep.”

 

_Can’t.  Catching the Red Eye._

“Charles, are you calling me from an _airport_?”

 

_Maybe._ Erik can hear the cheeky smile.  _It’s the quickest way back to you._

“At least eat something.  Not take-out.  Something that’ll stick with you; you know air-line food is shit.”

 

Charles laughs, and despite the distance, it still makes Erik smile in turn.  _I’ll do my best.  I’ll even order it extra rare for you._

“Go eat now, you can talk to me when you come home.”

 

_Fine, fine._

“Safe flight, Charles.  Come home soon.”

 

_I will.  I love you._

 

Erik hangs up, soft smile still in place.  He turns off the lights, brushes his teeth, and then climbs beneath the covers of their bed.  The knot in his heart unwinds, and Erik waits for the sheets to warm, and his feet, cold from the floor, to warm too.

 

Charles will be home, his key rattling the door, and his shoes tapping up the stairs because he’s too impatient to take them off.  He’ll reach the bed, and finally take off his shoes, curling into bed, waiting for Erik to wake up.  And when he wakes, they’ll start talking, and righting their course.

 

Everything’s good again.  It really is. 

 

Erik drifts to sleep, and dreams.

 

 

 

Across the distance, not so far now, Charles is leaving the airport. (No sense in making Erik wait for his flight to arrive, it’s better to surprise him by returning home much sooner than expected.  It’s the least he can do.) He hails a cab to go home, to Erik.


End file.
